


Not a Day

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (mention) - Freeform, Chubby John, Fat Sherlock, Fatlock, Feeding, Fish and Chips, M/M, New Clothes, Sex, Stuffing, a lot of gasping, belly play, belly rubs as foreplay, moany groany Sherlock, popping a button
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-02 00:17:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8643805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Can Sherlock last a whole day in his new clothes?Classic Sherlock feeding kink work. This tag is just so empty, yknow?





	

Sherlock struggled to make the two sides of his shirt meet. The first two had buttoned easily, the third with a bit of resistance, and the fourth kept popping out. The fifth and so on positively refused to meet.

"John!" he called.

"What is it, love?" John walked up behind Sherlock, eyes taking in the predicament at hand.

"It doesn't fit."

"I can see that." John's hand reached around to cup Sherlock's belly, fingers splaying out across its girth. "I wonder why."

"I need new clothes."

"Can see that too. Nothing on today, we could go shopping. You can wear one of my jumpers."

Sherlock snorted. "Please."

"C'mon, love, it'll be quick, I promise."

"Fine." Sherlock dropped the poor shirt and turned to kiss John instead. That was far less annoying.

-

John's jumper did fit Sherlock, miraculously, though it was one of the bigger ones bought by a coworker who had misjudged John's size. It did smell a bit like John, though, and that was some consolation.

A few hours later Sherlock had various bags with new shirts, pants, and trousers and he had changed out of John's ghastly jumper into something more fitting-- literally. Thoroughly exhausted from the ordeal (check-out lines were so dull and unorganized), John proposed they stop at a chip shop. Sherlock agreed eagerly.

Four baskets later, Sherlock's belly felt decidedly tight, even in the new shirt. He shifted in his seat, trying to readjust things so he was more comfortable.

"John..."

"Hm?"

"I might be fed out of these clothes by the time we get home." His eyebrows moved of their own accord in a way that could only be thought of as suggestive.

"Keep the receipt, then," John said, a smirk lingering on his face.

-

The cab ride home was tense. A warm bag of fish and chips sat between their feet; John had ordered it after Sherlock had mentioned the state of his clothing. Sherlock was slouched next to him, with his head on John's shoulder. Currently, John was trying very hard to not stroke Sherlock's very prominent and very beautiful belly. (Sherlock, alternatively, was mindlessly tracing small whorls and loops along the side.) Every pothole they lurched over sent a small earthquake through the soft flesh, making it jiggle and quake. John cursed the government and its shoddy road upkeep.

When the cab pulled up in front of 221B, John threw a bill at the driver, barely glancing at the value. He slid out of the seat, holding out his hand to help Sherlock, holding the chip basket and bags, out. He took John's hand and kept holding it, even after they were out of the cab.

They raced up the stairs, or the equivalent with Sherlock's altered speed due to his belly. Once safely in the flat door locked behind them, Sherlock dropped the chip basket and bags on the counter and John backed him against a wall, pressing against his already distended belly and dropping sloppy kisses all over Sherlock's face. Sherlock groaned and ran his hands over his gut.

"Come to bed," John gasped, tugging Sherlock's hand, still pressed against him.

Sherlock smirked. He leaned down and ghosted breath across John's face and ear.

"Gladly," he whispered.

-  
His belly curved up from under his ribcage, which was padded with layers of soft flesh, and sloped outwards and down, covering his thick thighs with heavy fat. He huffed, bending to get his shoes off. John watched, entranced, while Sherlock struggled around his massive full belly. Sherlock looked up, eyes dark.

"Perhaps you could help me with the rest?" he asked, running delicate fingers over the swell of his belly, teasing, deliberately alluring.

John kicked his own shoes off and toppled into bed next to Sherlock, who had rolled over, leaving space for John. He was on his side, belly slanting down to leave an indent on the mattress. He ran a hand down his side, pressing into his love handles, over his generous hips and prominent arse, and around to cup his gut, heft its girth.

With careful, trembling, anticipating fingers, John undid the buttons of Sherlock's shirt from the top. He grazed fingers over collarbones padded with pudge and pressed little divots down his sternum, following each with a small kiss. As more buttons were undone, John's breathing quickened. He dotted light kisses down Sherlock's belly, following the buttons. Sherlock panted with excitement for things to come, his tum arching against John's mouth again and again. When John reached the last button, Sherlock threw off the shirt and dropped it on the floor, exposing padded shoulders and jiggling arms and heavy breasts resting against his sternum and belly.

John's mouth ran dry. He reached out and cupped Sherlock's waist, spread his fingers over the man's back and felt the give of the chub that had settled there, massaged the small rolls with his fingertips. He stroked his hand down to grab Sherlock's arse.

"God, you're gorgeous," John said, scrambling to get the chip basket on the bed and straddle Sherlock, who flopped onto his back willfully, as quickly as he could. John had to spread his legs wide to straddle Sherlock's thick, fattened thighs, and the little belly he had developed sympathetically during Sherlock's feedings brushed against Sherlock's significantly bigger one. He placed hands on either side of Sherlock's tum, cupping the bulging flesh. Sherlock's head was titled back and he was taking sips of air, a pleasurable smile on his cherubic face. Now was the slow, teasing part. Later would come the franticness, the stuffing, the rough sex a few minutes after Sherlock finished eating. His thumbs dipped under Sherlock's overhang, pressing up in the giving fat. He felt for the button and ran the fingers of his left hand around it, then tried to slip a finger into his trousers. He got his fingertip in- almost, but nothing else. It was too tight.

"John. Get on with it, please, God."

John grabbed up the chip basket and offered a chip, still warm, to Sherlock's lips. One hand remained under Sherlock's overhang, rubbing and caressing, gauging the tightness of the trousers. Sherlock took it eagerly, barely chewing before swallowing it and opening his mouth for another. This time John gave him two, which went down with the same quickness. John hurriedly fed Sherlock the rest, massaging his belly as the pressure grew- in Sherlock's already stuffed belly, against the trouser button, and the arousal between them. The harsh sounds of breathing were the only communication needed. Sherlock groaned between bites, the salty treats filling his stomach further. When the chips were gone, John broke off bits of fried fish and pressed them past Sherlock's yielding lips. The man moaned, running a hand over the crest of his stretched tight tum, the other clutching at the sheets. He arched his back, but got only a centimeter or two off the bed, too weighed down by the manifestation of his gluttony. John crammed more fish into his mouth, which slipped past Sherlock's lips easily and down his throat, adding itself to the bulging mass in his stomach. Piece after piece of fish added themselves to his stomach until there was no more, his belly swelling out.

John gasped, stroked his greasy fingers over Sherlock's belly. He thrust his hips against Sherlock's belly, just enough to tease the other man. Sherlock moaned in reply, trying to arch his own hips to meet John's, but couldn't. He writhed on the bed as John prodded him, burying fingers as far as he could in Sherlock's stretched tight navel and squeezing whatever give was left in his stuffed tum.

"You're not done yet, are you love? Your trousers are still on."

"God, don't remind me," Sherlock gasped. "So tight. Get them off."

John smiled, lessening his thrusting, teasing Sherlock. "Don't you want to pop them?" he asked as innocently as he could.

"Yes. No. I want relief. God, five chip baskets. So fucking tight. These are new, too."

"Mm, yeah. Couldn't even last a day, could you?" He reached into the nightstand and pulled out a chocolate bar from the stash they kept there exactly for times like these. Also, Sherlock liked to snack before bed. "Ready for dessert?"

Sherlock groaned and opened his mouth. John broke off a square of chocolate and pressed it onto Sherlock's tongue. He ducked his head, balancing himself with outstretchd arms on either side of Sherlock's huge belly, kissing the other man hot and filthy. He tasted the salt and grease and sugar on Sherlock's lips and groaned. He pressed kisses around Sherlock's jaw and cheekbones and hairline, then fed him two more squares. Sherlock chewed and swallowed the sweet candy, then opened his mouth for more.

"You'll get a stomachache like that, podgy," John said, stuffing a whole row of squares into Sherlock's mouth. When he swallowed, the other man shot back a reply.

"Yes. That's definitely the reason."

"If you're still being sarcastic, I'm not doing my job," John said, and quickly shoved the rest of the chocolate into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock moaned, hands scrabbling, back arching. He swallowed and took a deep, greedy breath.

A pop. A clatter across the room. A heavy exhale.

A flood of creamy white flesh flubbed out, pushing down the zip and even further outward. John groaned, dipping onto his hands and knees and pushing his mouth into the soft white fat. He sucked love bites into the lower curve, then moved up to Sherlock's gorgeous love handles and bit down, gently, then more harshly. He sucked more love bites, pulling the pliable skin into his mouth and laving it, grazing his teeth over and over, running his tongue over the abused skin. Finally, he levered himself up and snogged a panting, stuffed Sherlock. It was sloppy and flithy, followed by dozens of hard wet kisses around Sherlock's greasy mouth, down his jaw, down his neck. He suckled at Sherlock's earlobe and moaned. Sherlock's returning moan made John's cock ache more than before, and suddenly it was too much to ignore.

He peeled Sherlock's trousers down, the fabric clinging to his wide thighs. His hips seemed to swell before John's eyes, severely abused breifs cutting into the soft skin around his pelvis. He pushed the trousers down to Sherlock's knees, feeling the man's harsh pants and glorious moans. He tugged down Sherlock's pants and the man's cock sprung out, hard, purple, and leaking. John groaned and suckled at the head, lapping the salty precum up greedily. Sherlock jerked, hips stuttering into John's mouth. John gladly wrapped his mouth around Sherlock's girth and bobbed down, relishing in the press of Sherlock's tum against his face and he moved up and down. He supported himself with one arm, the other hand occupied with undoing his denims and shoving them down with his pants. It took only seconds before Sherlock was coming in long hard spurts into John's mouth. He drank it down, the salty bitterness like gold on his tongue. He grabbed his cock with one hand, thrusting hard into his fist.

Emerging from the haze of his orgasm, Sherlock panted a few words. "F- fuck- fuck my belly. John."

John didn't need to be told twice. He heaved himself up, legs spread wide over Sherlock's thighs, arms on either side, chest low. He thrust his hips up, cock buoying against Sherlock's springy fat belly. His breath came harshly, hot and frantic against Sherlock's skin. It took him just moments too to orgasm, come painting Sherlock's belly and thighs with long white stripes. He collapsed, head hazy and sight blurry, along Sherlock's side. He flung an arm over Sherlock's chest and just breathed in the oxytocin and scent of sweat and sex. He came back to himself gradually, to see Sherlock swirling his fingers over his belly, through John's mess. Making sure John was watching, Sherlock lifted the fingers to his mouth, placed them on his tongue, hollowed his cheeks, and sucked on them.

"Good?"

Sherlock extracted the fingers, gleaming with spit, not a drop of come left. "Wonderful."


End file.
